Aghh, Mothers Day. The one day a year where mom is appreciated and worshiped for all her hard work.

On Mother’s day, I’ve realized that there are two types of Moms. The one’s that want to spend the day with their kids and the ones that don’t. Guess which category I fall into? I love my little piddy poo with all my heart, but just ONE day - no diapers, no cooking, no cleaning, no entertaining - I just want to be lazy and drink lattes.

My Mothers Day started with the kiddo throwing a scone at my head yelling “Happy Mommy Day!” Never mind, it was 7:30am. Thank goodness his daddy was holding one of the most beautiful triple grande whole milk caramel lattes I had ever seen. yumm.

Then it was Prime Rib at the retirement home with grandma and the rest of the family. Overcooked roast beef, squishy asparagus and rock hard mashed potatoes. And as unpleasant as that was, it could have been worse. Well better, but I would have had to cook and clean up the mess. Which I’m pretty content with some mushy food. If I don’t have to cook, clean and the hubby didn’t make it. The last thing we needed was hazmat making a trip to the house. again.

All in all it was a good day.

I redid my blog and linked it to my twitter and facebook. Not sure how I feel about that. I really like keeping parts of my life compartmentalized. I don’t think I spelled that right, but there is no little red squiggly line underneath it.

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The hubby is having baby fever. He wants a baby, like yesterday. I must admit its pretty damn cute to have the hubby obsess over having a new little one. Because, let’s be honest here, the first one wasn’t exactly planned. It became known as “Oh Shit Surprise of 2007.” The hubby and I didn’t really focus on the excited “We’re having a baby,” it was a terrifying thought. He focused more on the “Oh shit, we’re having a baby.” while I focused on the “Oh Shit, I have to shove what through where?” part of it.  But we did it. Pretty well in fact. I did it natural - as in - I shoved my little 8.8lb watermelon through my va-jay without an epidural. The doctor gave me a mild anxiety pill, a couple steps down from a valium. Just enough to keep me from going into a full blown panic attack and choking out the hubby for impregnating me.

We’ve been talking about it for a couple months and I finally decided to not start ‘trying,’ so much as just giving up birth control. Just letting it happen. Actually planning to get pregnant scares me. We did so great without planning on it, I don’t want to break that mold. So here we are the first month birth control free. I’m hoping that if and when I get knocked up it will be after the World Cup. That ends July 10th. There is nothing more that I love than drinking Guinness at 7am watching some 3rd World country upset a superpower. Sidenote: Ghana, this is your year.

It’s really different getting to not plan a planned pregnancy. I guess I’ve spent so much of my baby-makin life trying NOT to get pregnant that now, it feels like I am breaking the rules by actively planning on having an unplanned pregnancy. Who am I kidding? This is obviously a planned pregnancy. But planning a pregnancy is scary. Especially now that I know how the whole preggo thing works. There is constipation, heartburn, uncontrollable mood swings, forgetfulness, fatigue, uncontrollable mood swings twice as bad as previously mentioned, backaches, swollen feet, weight gain, and that beautiful amazing moment when your hubby looks at you wide eyed because  the hormones have taken over all rational thought and behavior. Lets just say that after that day at Babies R Us, I was forcibly kindly asked never to return. The hubby also hid all the knives and scissors in the house.

The first time around the hubby didn’t understand why I had to eat 7lbs of oranges at 3am. This time he is excited to go to the store, buy ten pounds of oranges and peel them all for me at 3am on a work night. I’m serious. He is excited for me to start bawling for twenty minutes at a Johnsonville Bratwurst commercial. And not just to laugh and mock me either. He is excited to be that “Excited We’re Having A Baby!” type of person, that him and I both really missed out on the first time around.

Yes, I feel this has all the makings of a romantic comedy horror film.

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When the kiddo first started talking I was so ecstatic. I was thrilled. He would finally be able to tell me what he wanted, when he wanted. At least that’s what I thought. Yea, I know you’re laughing right now. Blame it on new parenthood ideas. My friend has a 7month old and she is so excited for her baby girl to start talking. Ahh, the good ole’ days.

I’ll admit, when the kid started talking it was hilarious. When he would say “Cracker” and it sounded like ‘Crack Whore.’ He was at my dad’s house for the weekend and came back saying ‘Butthole’ which was ‘backhoe.’ He still hasn’t quite got the ‘K’ down yet either. The hubby and I like to have the kiddo say things like ‘My backhoe dirty’ or ‘Daddy has a big backhoe’ and of course my favorite “Cracker likes the Backhoe.’ It’s the simple things that make us smile. It also makes up for the moments when he just won’t shut up. Like tonight out at dinner.

Damn you family friendly restaurants with quarter candy machines at the entrance. Here is how our entire dinner went, over and over and over:
“Mommy, Mommy, Mommy, Candy Please.”
“After dinner sweetie, but only if you behave” Whatever, my kids been eating candy before he had teeth. It’s not like you haven’t questioned my parenting skills before.
“Mommy, Mommy, Mommy Now. Mommy, Candy Now Please. Mommy, Mommy, Mommy, Money for Candy, Mommy, Candy Now Please. Money Now Mommy, Mommy, Mommy, Money Now Candy Now, Mommy Please.”
“No. No Candy before dinner.” I say.

I just remember back to when he would just cry for what he wanted and I would pretend I knew what he wanted. It was so easy then. Those were the good ole’ days. Because even now, with him talking, if I respond with something he doesn’t like, he just cries anyway. It’s so much more acceptable to be in public with an infant crying, than a toddler screaming “Caaaannnndddddyyyy Mooooooooooooooommyyyyyyy.”

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I’m a stay at home mom.. Yes, I work from home as well, but my primary duties are to my little monster boy. He’s 2 and a half. I have been known to go one, two, three even four days without showering. Yea, Yea, gag, gross, whatever. But let me tell you the story of today and then see which you gag more at - me not showering for days or the aftermath of one 15 minute shower.

Showering consists of bribing the kid to stay in the bathroom while I shower. “Here, eat a cupcake on the bathroom floor while mommy showers.” I know you’re jealous of my awesome parenting skills. I get in the shower. Kid wolfed down cupcake in 1 minute. Door opens, he’s on his way out. Now the first time he ever ran out of the bathroom while I was in the shower I jumped out and chased after him in my naked glory just as the UPS guy was delivering a package at my front door. We have a floor to ceiling, solid glass window next to the front door. We have a large brick porch that sits back from the street, so normal passerbys can’t see in. It’s a whole other ball game if your standing on the porch in front of the window. He gave me a wave through his shock and my horror.

But I digress,

The kid runs out, I stay in the shower. 4 minutes later he runs back in naked. Sits on his little potty and does a little, tiny turd. I was pretty proud of the kid. He lifts up the little potty catcher and dumps the little, tiny turd into the big toilet and flushes. Freezing cold water for 30 seconds and the kid runs out again. All is silent in the house and I finish up the shower, rinse the conditioner out and as I’m turning the water off the kid runs in again. At that moment I prayed he scaled the bookshelf and got into every single piece of chocolate in his Easter basket and was currently carrying it.

But No.

That little, tiny turd he did? That was just the final act to a much larger, more liquid poop that was on the living room floor. The kid tried to clean it up himself. Props to him. However he used much of the clean laundry that was sitting on the coffee table to smear it around on the carpet. He did get a little distracted at some point and decided some of his hot wheels needed to go ‘Four Wheelin’ through it. Then the dogs needed to see what was going on, he felt the need to pet the doggies, while they sniffed and walked through the poop. At that point I think is when the kiddo decided to pick up the more solid pieces and walk them into the bathroom where I was just finishing up my shower. It was quite the inner debate on whether to go see what lies outside of that bathroom door first or clean him up.

I cleaned  him up, then walked into Poopie Armageddon. How that much poop came out of one little butt is beyond me. There were poopie paw prints, shit covered hot wheels, once clean laundry plastered with crap, and of course my area rug had been given the biggest Cleavland Steamer ever.

Was that 15 minute shower worth it? Hell No. I think you can agree.

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When I was about six years old, I started asking  to ride my bike to 7-11. My dad said No. The 7-11 was a good 10 or 12 blocks away and involved being on a really busy street. I continued to ask my dad repeatedly if I could ride my bike or even walk to 7-11. The answer was always “No. You’re not ready.” Of course I would do the whiny “When will I be ready?” shtick, and his answer was always “You’ll know.”   This was also around the time I started getting a dollar a week as an allowance.

7-11 had candy.

Finally one day, I just got on my bike with my pockets containing a couple dollars, and raced to the 7-11. Knowing full well an ass whoopin awaited me when I got back home. I bought all the candy I could, ate most of it there, and rode my bike home.

When disobeying your parents, and buying candy, don’t buy chocolate.

Dad: Where have you been?
Me: Riding my bike around the block.
Dad: Did you go to 7-11?
Me: I don’t think so.
Dad: You don’t think so?  You have chocolate all over your face. Where did you get it?
Me: At 7-11.
Dad: Ok, go clean up. Don’t tell your mom.

I never got that ass whoopin. It was simple; When I was ready to believe in myself, make the decision, accept the consequences to get the reward, I was ready. It’s an amazing life lesson that usually people don’t learn until way later in life, if they learn it all.

I’ve done a lot of stupid things in my life, with severe consequences or massive rewards. One thing though, is I never could have rode my bike to 7-11 without my dad offering up this fatal, gem of advice

It’s easier to get forgiveness, than ask for permission

This is terrible advice to give to a child. Who eventually turns into a teenager. But great advice for an adult, struggling with what to do with their life.

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I’m mildly addicted to twitter. It’s my social media go-to. I would rather check my twitter than check my facebook, myspace, linkedin, etc. I would rather check twitter than my email. I would rather eat live worms than go without my twitter family. Alright, I will stop my crazy game of “Would You Rather” since it can get out of hand pretty fast. But going back to my twitter fam, they are amazing. And really, some of my best friends. I know that sounds kinda sad, but it’s true. I remember first really ‘utilizing’ twitter a couple months after my brother died. I was able to express some anger, hostility, emotional breakdowns, psychotic breaks with reality… and there was always someone listening and taking what I was dishing. And all  they were doing was politely telling me how to whiten my teeth. Then someone who had also lost someone tweeted me. A real person, not someone saying they ‘lost weight heres how’ or ‘check britneys lost photos’ kinda junk. It was a real person, who has since deleted their account. I then, finally grasped the beauty of twitter. I micro-blogged my ass off about random stuff and someone always found me. Someone was always there for me. Yes, I love twitter. It makes me feel like people actually care that I put pickles on my peanut butter sandwich. When I’m hungover there is always someone to laugh at me and tell me I should have drank more water.

Its very reminiscent of that saying “A friend will help you, but a real friend will help you hide the body.”  Wednesday would have been my brothers 24th birthday. I think that day was when I realized just how truly special and amazing my twitter fam is. Some of the most supportive, loving, kind words came from people I had never met before. My ‘real life’ friends never reached out. Not even through facebook or a text message. Not even a phone call. Who knows why, maybe they didn’t want to stir up feelings or whatever, because everyone likes to ignore and/or quickly change the subject if it’s brought up.

So, thank you my darling Twitter family for being there for me and helping me hide the body when I’ve needed it.

xoxo

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